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KATE TEMPLE'S SONG
Only a touch, and nothing more; Ah! but never so touched before!
Touch of lip, was it? Touch of hand?
Either is easy to understand.
Earth may be smitten with fire or frost-- Never the touch of true love lost.
Only a word, was it? Scarce a word!
Musical whisper, softly heard, Syllabled nothing--just a breath-- 'Twill outlast life and 'twill laugh at death.
Love with so little can do so much-- Only a word, sweet! Only a touch!
Mortimer Collins [1827-1876]
MY QUEEN
When and how shall I earliest meet her?
What are the words she first will say?
By what name shall I learn to greet her?
I know not now; it will come some day!
With the selfsame sunlight shining upon her, Shining down on her ringlets' sheen, She is standing somewhere--she I shall honor, She that I wait for, my queen, my queen!
Whether her hair be golden or raven, Whether her eyes be hazel or blue, I know not now; but 'twill be engraven Some day hence as my loveliest hue.
Many a girl I have loved for a minute, Worshipped many a face I have seen: Ever and aye there was something in it, Something that could not be hers, my queen!
I will not dream of her tall and stately, She that I love may be fairy light; I will not say she must move sedately,-- Whatever she does it will then be right.
She may be humble or proud, my lady, Or that sweet calm which is just between; And whenever she comes she will find me ready To do her homage, my queen, my queen!
But she must be courteous, she must be holy, Pure in her spirit, this maiden I love; Whether her birth be n.o.ble or lowly I care no more than the spirits above.
But I'll give my heart to my lady's keeping, And ever her strength on mine shall lean; And the stars may fall, and the saints be weeping Ere I cease to love her, my queen, my queen!
Unknown
"DARLING, TELL ME YES"
One little minute more, Maud, One little whisper more; I have a word to speak, Maud, I never breathed before.
What can it be but love, Maud; And do I rightly guess 'Tis pleasant to your ear, Maud?
O darling! tell me yes!
The burden of my heart, Maud, There's little need to tell; There's little need to say, Maud, I've loved you long and well.
There's language in a sigh, Maud, One's meaning to express, And yours--was it for me, Maud?
O darling! tell me yes!
My eyes have told my love, Maud, And on my burning cheek, You've read the tender thought, Maud, My lips refused to speak.
I gave you all my heart, Maud, 'Tis needless to confess; And did you give me yours, Maud?
O darling! tell me yes!
'Tis sad to starve a love, Maud, So worshipful and true; I know a little cot, Maud, Quite large enough for two; And you will be my wife, Maud?
So may you ever bless Through all your sunny life, Maud, The day you answered yes!
John G.o.dfrey Saxe [1816-1877]
"DO I LOVE THEE?"
Do I love thee? Ask the bee If she loves the flowery lea, Where the honeysuckle blows And the fragrant clover grows.
As she answers, Yes or No, Darling! take my answer so.
Do I love thee? Ask the bird When her matin song is heard, If she loves the sky so fair, Fleecy cloud and liquid air.
As she answers, Yes, or No, Darling! take my answer so.
Do I love thee? Ask the flower If she loves the vernal shower, Or the kisses of the sun, Or the dew, when day is done.
As she answers, Yes or No, Darling! take my answer so.
John G.o.dfrey Saxe [1816-1887]
"O WORLD, BE n.o.bLER"
O world be n.o.bler, for her sake!
If she but knew thee what thou art, What wrongs are borne, what deeds are done In thee, beneath thy daily sun, Know'st thou not that her tender heart For pain and very shame would break?
O World, be n.o.bler, for her sake!
Laurence Binyon [1869-
"IN THE DARK, IN THE DEW"
In the dark, in the dew, I am smiling back at you; But you cannot see the smile, And you're thinking all the while How I turn my face from you, In the dark, in the dew.
In the dark, in the dew, All my love goes out to you, Flutters like a bird in pain, Dies and comes to life again; While you whisper, "Sweetest, hark; Someone's sighing in the dark, In the dark, in the dew!"
In the dark, in the dew, All my heart cries out to you, As I cast it at your feet, Sweet indeed, but not too sweet; Wondering will you hear it beat, Beat for you, and bleed for you, In the dark, in the dew!
Mary Newmarch Prescott [1849-1888]
